Chapter 48

• Leila
• As soon as I stepped through the front door, I saw Nona. She sat alone on the floral sofa, her back straight as a rod, hands folded in her lap like a pair of resting birds. The lamp beside her cast a yellow glow over her silver hair, making her look smaller than usual—lonely, almost. But her eyes were sharp, clear, no trace of the illness Fred had muttered about when he'd fetched me.
• I turned my glare on Fred. He was dusting a shelf of leather-bound books, his shoulders hunched like he knew exactly what I was thinking. When I narrowed my eyes, he only wiped harder, as if the mahogany could swallow his guilt whole. Coward. I let the door click shut behind me, the sound loud in the quiet room.